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Eyes Open
Red's Entry for WFW's NaNoWriMo! A Warriors x Hunger Games Crossover. P r e f a c e Fire was everywhere. It sprung up around the bases of the tree-dens, orange and white flames licking up the trunks. Smoke clouded the sky, hanging over the camp like a thick, ashen cloud. Below, a thick swarm of cats was fighting their way through the chaos, clawing at any attackers that threatened their party and pushing through the terrified denizens of the camp. At the far end of the clearing, a massive, sprawling oak grew from the ground. Its trunk was the width of the stream that ran through the Capitol (just a half-day's walk away from the closest District), and its branches were almost twice as wide as the camp itself. The tree was old, perhaps older than the reign of the Capitol itself, with gnarled, knotted roots and moss and ivy snaking through the tangled branches. No tree-dens were perched atop the tree, though a slim opening at the base of the trunk betrayed the oak tree's use: a den, yes, but one far more majestic and radiating far more power than any of the tree-dens sprinkled around the camp. A small, chestnut tabby she-cat broke free from the thick throng of cats pushing towards the far den. She slipped around the brawling cats, ducking beneath an outstretched paw and wriggling past a trio of panicked, pregnant, queens. She made a beeline for the den at the far end of the camp. The she-cat - who went by the name of Twig - was unnerved by the lack of obstacles she faced on her way towards the den. There should have been the fabled white and silver cats, flanking the entrance to the den and heading towards her when they saw her coming. There should have been claws swiping at her flanks and teeth clamping shut on her tail. There should have been violet eyes, glowing with malice, materializing out of the smoky darkness. But there was nothing. No guards, no attackers, no...no nothing. Twig was nervous, and - though she would be loathe to admit it - a tiny bit terrified. This was all too easy. They had planned for all sorts of obstacles, trained for all manner of hindrances, of battles, prepared for anything that might have been thrown their way. They had put forth one of their best strategists and fighters for the mission...a mission that, Twig was realizing, could have been accomplished by one of the least valuable members of their team. She wasn't needed for this mission. She could be with the others, with the diversion. Twig didn't want her name to go down in history and now she realized it didn't need to. But there was no turning back now. Quietly, though stealth was an endeavor not quite necessary with the tumult that was ensnaring the camp, Twig crept forward. Her target was hiding inside the den that was a mere five tail-lengths from her. She was so close - she could nearly taste ''victory on her tongue. And yet...something was off. Shrugging her doubts from her shoulders, she trotted forwards. The silver guards that should have been posted outside the den were away, engaged in the melee in the center of the hollow. A few of them rushed in and out of the camp with water-soaked mossballs, which caused Twig to let out a snort. ''As if ''mossballs would put out the fire.'' For a few more moments, Twig stood in front of the den, staring across the bedlam that engaged the Capitol. She had always envisioned herself seated here, as a kit, being one of the hand-selected few to guard the President. Back home in her District, it had seemed like a feasible dream. After her first visit to the Capitol, though, her hopes were battered because of her pelt color. Oh, how sweet it would be when Twig ducked inside the den behind her and slaughtered the President. Now Twig realized: maybe she didn't want her name to go down in history, maybe her name didn't need to go down in history, but now...now that it would, she would make it count. Not hesitating now, Twig stood, stretched, and gave the Capitol one last look. The Uprising, the Rebellion, had begun. But now, with one blow from her paw, it would cease to exist. The President's den was dark, illuminated only by the glow of the fire that cast dancing shadows across the cavernous walls. For the interior of a tree, the den was certainly very large and did not disappoint. Twig kept close to the wall, doing her best not to make noise. From what Peach had told her, the President's nest should be on the far side of the den. Directly across from the entrance and to the side a little bit. Sure enough, from the light of the flames outside, Twig could discern the ruffled shape of a cat in a nest across the den. A smirk curled her lips. What happened next happened so fast, Twig lost track. She lunged forward in one fluid motion, legs outstretched and claws unsheathed. Her ears were pressed flat against her head, her senses honed in on the body lying immobile in the nest in front of her. Her muscles were bunched and tensed and ready. As soon as her claws tore through the throat of the cat in front of her - blood already soaking her paws as she moved in to check the cat's breathing and confirm his death - something hard hit her in the flank and she was thrown against the wall beside the entrance to the den. A cat loomed over her, his face hidden in shadow but his scent betraying him. Frantically, Twig looked towards the nest of the cat she had killed - a pelt, thrown into the light of the fire that had made its way into the den, revealed to be of the tabby variety, with orange and russet stripes crisscrossing the flank. Blood leaked from the cat's throat, and glassy gray eyes gazed sightlessly at the wall. Twig stared back at the cat in front of her. Dark pelt. Dark eyes. "Twig, is it? Hm...such a poor attempt at an assassination. Clever, but poor. Your death will be the first of the New Regime." Twig didn't have time to defend herself. The President's paw struck her hard in the head, claws connecting with her throat and the life leaking from her, just like that. Carefully, as though he didn't want to sully his paws, the President stepped over Twig's body and strode into the mayhem that surrounded the Capitol. Paying little attention to the angry mob of cats that had just spotted him, he leapt agilely up the burning oak tree that had served at his home and let out a yowl so terrible that all the action below him ceased. When he spoke, he spoke calmly. "At this very moment, there are troops of mine in District 13. Everywhere, poison is being released into the air, to which my own forces are immune. As punishment and penance for today's sins, District 13 will be eradicated. Any tom, she-cat, or kit who tries to stop this, who tries to rebel, will be slaughtered just as your fellows in District 13 are being right now. The time of the Uprising is over. The New Regime is here." total word count: 1209 edited word count: 1234 C h a p t e r O n e The Reaping Day dawned early, sending probing rays of sunlight through the dens like eager claws. Groggily, Shoalpaw opened one amber eye. A patch of sun fell across her fur, illuminating the particles of dust that danced through the air. Without opening the other eye, Shoalpaw parted her jaws. The fresh, tangy scent of saltwater and fish flooded into her mouth and sent an irrepressible wave of joy through her body. This was her home; this was her happiness. There was nothing that could give her as much delight as District 4 did. "Shoalpaw," a soft voice cooed in the young apprentice's ear. She had fallen into a warmth-induced stupor, but her mother's voice woke her for the second time that morning. "Shoalpaw, it's time to get ready, dear. The Reaping is at sunhigh." The Reaping. The two words shot tremors of fear snaking down Shoalpaw's spine, but she did her best not to show it. It's not like it would matter, anyway - her name was in the pool once. Out of all of the she-cats in District 4, there was no chance she'd be the one to be picked. No chance. No chance, Shoalpaw promised herself internally, taking deep breaths as she rose and padded into the center of the camp. No chance. As usual, three sleek white cats stood guard over the fresh-kill pile. The smallest one sent Shoalpaw a hostile glare from behind his pinkish eyes, while the older tom just gave her an encouraging smile and distributed her allotted meal for the day. An extra portion, filled with traveling herbs, had been thrown in for the journey later that morning. Shoalpaw choked back terror as she thanked the Peacekeeper and returned to her den to eat breakfast with her family. The meal was a quiet affair. "Are you excited for the Reaping, Shoalpaw?" Shoalpaw's father, Reedwhisker, asked. He was a quiet and thoughtful tom, who worked at the Tidepools, catching speciality prey and supervising the work that went on there. His line of duty had gotten his family one of the more cozy dens in the camp, which Shoalpaw was thankful for. Her mother -- equally kind and compassionate -- never failed to thank StarClan for her luck in family, and often reminded Shoalpaw to do the same. Shoalpaw mumbled something incoherent and stared blankly at her half-eaten minnows. "It's natural to be nervous," Frondnose said. Frondnose, was similar to her mate in demeanor with a soft voice and methodical movements. She helped out in the medicine den in a neighboring camp. Shoalpaw's parents weren't a likely pair - most cats Shoalpaw's age had a breadwinner and then a slacker for parents - but Shoalpaw loved them all the same and could wish for no better cats to raise and train her. "I am scared, a bit," Shoalpaw confessed, poking at the fish in front of her with one claw. "I know it's illogical because my name will only be in the pool once, but--with Icepaw...We all thought he was going to win. He was young, but he was strong, and I'm scared that I won't ''be as strong as him if I do get picked and I have the worst of luck -- remember that time I was the one who got all of the blame for the elder incident? -- so it probably will be me and I'm just...I'm just really scared." Silence ensued, during which Reedwhisker stared hard at the fish carcass in front of him. Icepaw had been his nephew, six moons old when his name had been drawn for the Reaping, and hadn't survived the Games. The entire family -- both Icepaw's immediate and extended -- had taken the loss hard. "Why don't you go help out Tuberpaw and her family, Shoalpaw?" Frondnose suggested, breaking the tense silence as she cleared the remains of the trio's breakfast from the den. "I'm sure Minnowfoot would appreciate the help, what with her new litter of kits and the Reaping Ceremony today." Shoalpaw obliged, padding from her den and breathing deeply. The salty tang of District 4 always soothed her when she was tense, and it didn't fail her now. She let out a slight sigh as a lull came over the camp and the distant ebb and flow of the waves could be heard down at the beach. The tide was the most comforting thing about District 4, Shoalpaw thought, and it always gave her a little boost in morale whenever she was sorely lacking. "Tuberpaw?" From the mouth of a den filled with loud, hungry mewls, a bony she-cat emerged. Her calico fur had already been groomed to sleek perfection, though her leaf-green eyes betrayed her weariness as she joined her friend at the edge of camp. Tuberpaw's mother, Minnowfoot, had recently given birth to a litter of five new kittens. Her other kits were some moons older and younger than Tuberpaw, but Shoalpaw's friend was the only she-cat of litter and by far the most helpful. "Hey, Shoalpaw," Tuberpaw greeted, her voice warm despite the tiredness etched in her face. "Ready for the Reaping?" "Yeah," Shoalpaw lied. She was afraid the rising fur along her spine would betray her, but Tuberpaw didn't seem to notice. It was customary, in District 4, for cats to be excited about the Reaping. After all, they were one of the three traditional Career districts -- the most trained, and the ones with the greatest chance of winning. Somehow, though, that thought had never really comforted Shoalpaw and she always felt an irrepressible nervousness when thinking about potentially being Reaped. "Mother won't be able to attend the Reaping, so I've got to go early to the Main Camp to fill her in," Tuberpaw explained as the pair wandered the perimeter of their camp. "Care to join me?" Panicking momentarily, Shoalpaw weighed her options. She wouldn't be able to talk to her mother or her father until after the Reaping -- if even then. If she was Reaped, there would only be a few moments of communication until she wouldn't see them for another season. ''If she won the Games. If not...she'd come back to them in bits and pieces. "You're overthinking again," Tuberpaw chided. "C'mon, Shoalpaw. It'll be fun. You know how much Codtail loves you." Shoalpaw couldn't keep the groan from escaping her lips. "Please. ''If I have to see his ugly orange face one more time, I think I might vomit." The sound of Tuberpaw's laughter was reassuring, so it was with only a small bit of hesitation that Shoalpaw decided to accompany her friend to the Main Camp. Despite the lighthearted chatter that the pair exchanged during the walk, however, Shoalpaw couldn't shake the feeling of something ominous to come. ''total word count: 2282 edited word count: 2362 C h a p t e r T w o "Shoalpaw and Tuberpaw, from Smalltides - it's by the tidepools. Also, I'm--" Tuberpaw was interrupted by a burly white tom, who instead of listening to Tuberpaw's explanation demanded roughly, "Paws." Taken aback at being so harshly cut off, Tuberpaw stuck out her paw. Beside her, in front of another Peacekeeper, Shoalpaw did the same. The pair winced as their pads were pricked with thorns from the vine behind the Peacekeepers and their bloody pawprints pressed up against the steadily-growing stack of leaves. Tuberpaw frowned, waited for the Peacekeeper to glance back up at her, and continued. "I'm Tuberpaw of the Smalltides--" Here the Peacekeeper made to interrupt her again, but she plowed on. "I've arrived early in order to clear my mother, Minnowtail of Smalltides, from the Reaping by the order of Bluemoon." The Peacekeeper narrowed his eyes, but nodded grudgingly. "Minnowtail of Smalltides, cleared. Next." Shoalpaw and Tuberpaw padded along the outer edge of the camp. It was much larger than their own back in Smalltides - as was the name of their camp - with the smallest dens being still larger than the largest back home. Lichen and strands of willow leaves hung in curtains, obscuring the mouths of every den in the center of the camp. To the side, a mossy tunnel sloped upwards, from which numerous cats of all ages were filtering into the camp. If Shoalpaw could guess, she would have wagered that that was where the majority of this camp's cats lived. "It's nearly sunhigh," Tuberpaw said excitedly Shoalpaw's queasiness returned with vigor, causing her stomach to churn uncomfortably and the sensation of bile rising in her throat to make another appearance. She couldn't shake the feeling that, despite the odds of her name being picked being one in many, something bad was about to happen. The duo padded to the area allotted for she-cats of their age group and took a seat. Around them, numerous she-cats were mimicking Tuberpaw's enthusiasm - a couple bounced up and down, their faces glowing and their entire bodies alert; where others were able to control their delight, but the light in their eyes betrayed them. The number of she-cats that seemed to be as nervous were far and few between, with Shoalpaw being one of perhaps three cats in the group that wasn't staring greedily up at the Reaping Pools at the front of the throng. By the time all of District 4 had squeezed into the camp, the sun was burning high in the sky. Shoalpaw squirmed uncomfortable, sandwiched in between an overheated, plump blue she-cat who was panting heavily and her friend, Tuberpaw. Tuberpaw's bony frame did give Shoalpaw some leeway, though not enough to squirm away from the sweating she-cat to Shoalpaw's left. At the front of the crowd, one of the Peacekeepers let out an ear-splitting yowl. Shoalpaw flattened her ears to her head, suppressing the urge to hiss at the noise. The chatter died down, and Shoalpaw could feel the crowd collectively shift forward in anticipation. From behind the lichen that overhung one of the dens, a pretty she-cat stepped forward. Her fur was a lustrous, unnatural shade of turquoise that had likely undergone numerous dyings and treatments in the Capitol. From the moment she spoke, it was clear that that was her place of origin - her voice held traces of the silly Capitol accent everyone loved to mock and the simplest of her mannerisms (the way in which she stepped around the puddles, the degree to which she had groomed herself) betrayed her as an outsider. It was no matter, however, for Blueflower had been District 4's escort for seasons to pass and likely seasons to come. Everyone had grown to love her, quirkiness and all. "Welcome, welcome," Blueflower trilled, scanning the crowd with luminous green eyes. "It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the Reaping for the 50th Annual Hunger Games." She waited for the applause and when she received it, plowed on with a satisfied smile. "As many of you know, this year's games mark the fiftieth anniversary of the day the Uprising ended and the New Regime began. Thus, it is time for the Second Quarter Quell. As with all Quarter Quells that have passed and all that will come, the Capitol provides a special sort of treat for each Quell - a new variable, if you will." Beside Shoalpaw, Tuberpaw leaned forward excitedly. "This year, instead of two Tributes, one tom and one she-cat, four ''Tributes will be reaped from every District." The crowd erupted. On the side of the camp reserved for the toms, a whoop went up. Every tom could be seen butting or swatting at his neighbor in a fervent excitement - all were happy to get double the chance to participate in the Games. Shoalpaw, however, felt her heart sink. This couldn't be happening. "Now, for the Reaping itself. Toms first," said Blueflower, padding towards the pool that held all of District 4's toms' names. There was nothing actually in the pool, though the water was said to be enchanted. Blueflower bent her head to the surface of the pool and (here, Shoalpaw had to crane her neck to see what was going on) lapped up a few drops of the crystalline water. Immediately, white light flooded her eyes and she stepped forward with a sort of regality usually reserved for StarClan cats. "I've heard about this," Tuberpaw hissed, her eyes alight. "There's a StarClan spirit inside of her that chooses!" Shoalpaw swallowed the lump in her throat as Blueflower closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, it was with the name of the chosen toms on her tongue. The entire group leaned forward with bated breath, waiting, hoping, praying to be chosen. "For the 50th Annual Hunger Games, District 4's Quarter Quell male Tributes will be..." Shoalpaw stared at her paws. She couldn't watch. "...Pebblepaw from Narrowreeds and Rainpaw from Brookfell!" There was a swell of noise. Shoalpaw sat back on her haunches, the knot of terror growing in her stomach. Across the camp, two toms strode forward - one, with an ashen, spotted pelt who held his chin high and walked with confidence and the other with fur of a similar color who walked with positivity and optimism. They took their places behind Blueflower, and it was with a start that Shoalpaw realized the second tom, Rainpaw, had been the subject of her affections when she had been younger. Before his father's transfer, Rainpaw had lived in Smalltides with Tuberpaw and Shoalpaw. He'd been one of the brightest, most polite, most talented toms in the camp. Almost every she-cat had fallen in love with him, and Shoalpaw was no exception. Now, in the Games...he was definitely going to be a favorite throughout all of the Districts, with the looks of his. Shoalpaw refocused on the Reaping, where Blueflower had floated over to the pool of she-cats. The light in her eyes had died and she shook her fur out briefly before dipping her muzzle into the small shallow and again being filled with the power of her ancestors. "For the 50th Annual Hunger Games, District 4's Quarter Quell female Tributes will be..." Shoalpaw felt a surge of crippling, debilitating fear. This new kind of terror made whatever she had been feeling before feel like assessment-anxiety. This - this was real dread, filling every vein in her body with ice and almost tearing whimpers from her mouth. She couldn't move, she could hardly breathe, she could hardly ''hear. It was with such a feeling that she waited for Blueflower to announce the Tributes. "Tuberpaw from Smalltides--" "No," Shoalpaw whispered, but her friend's face lit up. "--and Shoalpaw from Smalltides." total word count: 3582 C h a p t e r T h r e e There was no time to wait, no time to think, no time to panic. Immediately, Peacekeepers materialized on either side of the duo, drawn by the wide berth the other she-cats had given them. As Shoalpaw and Tuberpaw were escorted to the front of the crowd, both were the subject of many hostile glares and curled lips. Many of these cats would have given anything to be in their position - and Shoalpaw would have given them anything for them to take it. Shoalpaw didn't get a chance to speak to Tuberpaw as they were buoyed into the den from which Blueflower had come at the beginning of the ceremony. The aqua-pelted she-cat followed, warbling good-naturedly about the beautiful quartet the four of them would make. All together, they would make quite possibly the deadliest alliance that the Hunger Games had ever seen - or so Blueflower thought. Shoalpaw's churning stomach and fraying nerves thought otherwise. "Pip pip," Blueflower sang, wrapping her tail around Tuberpaw's shoulders and pulling her to the front of the group. "We've got to get you four to the Capitol straight away! You'll be meeting your stylists and your mentors and then there will be the Tribute Parade...oh, this is all my favorite part of the Games! Getting dressed up, all pretty and sweet. Simply wonderful!" "Wonderful," Shoalpaw echoed, her mind going blank. Her name had been in the pool once. The chance of her being picked were one in hundreds, and yet when the StarClan spirit vested itself in Blueflower, her name had been the one that was chosen. Being chosen alongside Tuberpaw, though, that was what really set Shoalpaw off. As she stumbled alongside the group, descending through a tunnel in the back of the den, Shoalpaw lost control of her body. She lurched forward and then stopped, her muscles burning and her eyesight blurred with tears. In one single moment, all of the emotion that had been surprisingly kept from her face came tumbling back, hurtling from her mouth in a pool of bile and vomit and rooting her legs to the spot. Shoalpaw retched, nearly slipping in the sick that lay at her feet, and sank to her stomach. Blueflower and the others didn't pause, though a pair of Peacekeepers closed in on either side of Shoalpaw. Their claws were pressed against her belly, and the young she-cat felt blood coming to the surface of her skin. They thought this was an escape ''plan. "I'm...no-no-tri...tri-ring...es...e-cape...?" Shoalpaw could barely form coherent words. She could barely ''see and these albino cats thought she was trying to escape. She couldn't stand, she couldn't walk, she was practically being carried between the two Peacekeepers. The one still had his claws pressed threateningly against the soft, downy fur that coated her stomach. The next few hours, or at least until sunset, were all a blur to Shoalpaw. She believed she was put into a den, alone for a while, and then collected. Tuberpaw was jubilant when she was gathered up, after Shoalpaw. Tuberpaw made to say something to Shoalpaw, but either she couldn't remember it or Tuberpaw had spoken too softly for Shoalpaw to make out because as soon as Tuberpaw's mouth opened, Shoalpaw remembered blinking, and being recalled to her senses. Tuberpaw bounded ahead with Blueflower and the two toms, leaving Shoalpaw with her irate Peacekeeper buddies. Shoalpaw was shoved into another den, this one with moonlight filtering through the translucent roof of leaves and vines. Blueflower was already speaking. "From here, you'll be escorted to the Capitol. It's a bit of a walk, but as one of the closer-lying Districts, you four should cope just fine. Should any of you try and escape - as silly as that thought may seem, but this is protocol - the Peacekeepers are ready to keep you in line," the Capitol cat said. "Are we clear?" "Clear as those beautiful eyes of yours," one of the toms - Pebblepaw, Shoalpaw thought - said with a coy smirk. Blueflower feigned being flattered, though the distant look in her eyes assured Shoalpaw that the line had been dropped many times in the past Games and Blueflower was doing her best not to conjure up memories of the fallen Tributes who'd spoken those very same words to her. It was surprising, to Shoalpaw, how clear her mind was now. There was still panic coursing through her veins, but it had almost taken a back seat. She was in shock, surely, but still able to function. If anything, her mind was even clearer now, her thoughts sliding through her brain with much more ease. Everything was crystal-clear to her, like the water in the tidepools after the first thaw of Newleaf. Shoalpaw took a deep breath. "...we leave at dawn. I suggest you all get a good night's sleep - we'll be camping out in this den for the time being." There were haphazard nests constructed around the place, though only three when there were a minimum of five necessary. Tuberpaw sat down on one and promptly began to snore, her calico tail flicking scraps of moss towards Shoalpaw. Rainpaw gestured to one of the other nests, offering it up to Shoalpaw. Instead, the she-cat shook her head. She wasn't too comfortable with the idea of sleeping where a cat - who was now dead ''- had slept four seasons ago. "Blueflower?" Rainpaw offered, gesturing towards the nest with her tail. "Oh, you're a dear," the escort trilled, taking the nest gladly and circling it for a few moments. Pebblepaw snagged the other one, leaving Rainpaw and Shoalpaw to forage for moss and fronds themselves. Trailing into one of the farthest corners of the spacious den, Rainpaw leaned in close to Shoalpaw, so close that she could feel his breath stirring the fur on her ear. She resisted the urge to shy away, instead facing him. Even he seemed alarmed at their proximity, but he didn't step back as he mewed kindly, "Hey, are you all right? You've been pretty quiet. There's nothing to be nervous about." "I'm going to be ''killed," Shoalpaw spat before she could help herself. "Don't tell me there's 'nothing to worry about.'" Rainpaw looked slightly hurt, but he said nothing, only gave her a hesitant smile and pushed some of his scavenged reeds towards her. Reluctantly, Shoalpaw scooped up the makings of a nest and wove them together, the way she had been taught to in Smalltides. Once her ready-to-float nest was completed, she stepped into it - only to look over and find Rainpaw struggling, exasperated. Wordlessly, she stepped from her nest and over to his. Nudging him gently aside, Shoalpaw began to weave the fronds and moss together to create a small, circular nest that would float should the den flood. Clearly, not many toms (or cats in general) in Brookfell had been taught to make dens. It was a valuable skill in Smalltides, one that would get you far if you were good at it. "Thank you," Rainpaw said quietly, genuinely. "I--" But if he said anything more, Shoalpaw didn't hear it. His words were lost in the scuffle as Shoalpaw curled up on herself, circling her nest a few times before settling into it with her splotchy gray tail wrapped around her nose. Before, being left to her thoughts had been refreshing, purifying, and revitalising. Now, with only the darkness and the noises of the others breathing, her thoughts came back. But this time, instead of coming with the cool, brisk feeling Shoalpaw associated with the tidepools back home, they came on the wings of crows and in the stench of monsters. total word count: 4869 C h a p t e r F o u r "Ouch!" "Sorry, dear," Vixenwing clucked, peeling away the leaf sticky with honey. A thick patch of fur clung to the semi-hardened goop, and when Shoalpaw craned her head to look, she was embarrassed by the sight that met her. A large portion of her back, flanks, and hindquarters had already been plucked away to reveal a fine down that was being groomed to perfection by another of Vixenwing's helpers. Beside Shoalpaw, Tuberpaw lay. "Isn't this ama--oh, StarClan--zing?" Tuberpaw winced as her own stylist pulled back a leaf. Despite her white-and-orange fur already being remarkably short, it was far too coarse to be deemed acceptable by the Capitol stylists. She was undergoing a similar treatment to Shoalpaw, though with a thick kind of paste being rubbed into her pelt as well. Shoalpaw shook her head queasily and lay back in her nest of moss. The smell was getting to her, a little bit. Thankfully, she was soon distracted by the appearance of Blueflower, who plowed into the den with a loud voice and a boistrous presence. Shoalpaw almost had to shield her eyes. "Good evening, good evening, good evening, my Tributes!" Blueflower chipred. "You've all got a grand night ahead of you! The Tribute Parade! This is my favorite ''part of the Hunger Games, you know. All the color and the lights and the beauty...now, your mentors will be here in a moment to talk things over with you. You've been put into pairs, the same pairs you'll be with during the Parade, and each pair will have their own mentor, correct?" Blueflower waited until each of them nodded to continue. "Your mentor is going to be the closest thing to--to family that you have, now. They are going to teach you how to behave and they will be your best chance for survival." Here, Blueflower sniffed. Shoalpaw craned her head to peer at the gaudy Capitol she-cat, but Pearlfoot's paw on her cheek pushed her back into the nest. "Of course," Blueflower said, composing herself, "with my lovely District 4 Tributes, I suspect you won't have any problems in these Games, am I right? I think I am! Right, so your mentors will train you and then they will send you into the Games. At any rate--well, here they are." Shoalpaw heard pawsteps. Now, Vixenwing and Pearlfoot allowed her to sit up and turn to face her mentor. Surprisingly, Shoalpaw recognized her. If she wasn't mistaken, the she-cat's name was Feathertail. She participated in the same Games as Icepaw, and had been District 4's star Tribute for the past few seasons. Beneath a glossy, dappled silver coat, lean muscles rippled. Her eyes were like chips of ice, just as sharp but twice as delicate. She held a certain air about her, one of intimidation - though with the underlying warning that she might snap if someone didn't step carefully enough around her. Feathertail smiled at Shoalpaw, though her eyes remained flat. Blueflower stepped forward. "Pebblepaw and Shoalpaw will be trained together, while Rainpaw and Tuberpaw will also double. Feathertail, Pebblepaw and Shoalpaw are your pair and Duckclaw, Rainpaw and Tuberpaw are all yours." Shoalpaw quailed beneath Feathertail's gaze. "Looks like I've been given the weakest link," Feathertail said with pursed lips and an air of disappointment. Her eyes rested upon Shoalpaw, and the expression within them had morphed from complete emptiness to one of disdain, disgust, and utter lack of warmth. Feathertail said nothing more on the topic of Shoalpaw, though she seemed to brighten when her gaze roamed towards Pebblepaw. "And you! The cat from District 4 with real potential." Flushing, Shoalpaw paid close attention to Feathertail's words. She couldn't help but glance towards Tuberpaw, though, who was sitting closer to Rainpaw than was commonly comfortable. Beneath her fur, Shoalpaw felt a twinge of envy and anger. "...''your ''best chance is going to be the Careers," Shoalpaw's mentor told her with one curled lip. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to find an asset to provide them with because otherwise, you're dead meat, shrimp." The nickname hung in the air like a rotting piece of fish, while Feathertail pondered her next words. "Yeah, Careers are your best bet. I won't be able to teach you much, but we'll see what we can do." "Thank you," Shoalpaw forced out. Feathertail didn't smile. "All right, you four," Blueflower said, breaking the silence with delicate words. "We'll leave you be. Almost time!" * * * Shoalpaw and Tuberpaw stood inside the mouth of the cave. To Shoalpaw's left stood Pebblepaw, his back straight and his fur artfully-splattered with multi-colored dyes. The greens and blues accentuated the harsh hue of his own eyes, making them stand out against his otherwise colorless gray fur. Shoalpaw was decorated in a similar manner, with her pelt smeared with the juice from a variety of berries. She could feel the stuff clinging in her fur, heavy, thick, and warm. She yearned to drag her tongue across it and wash it out, though knew she wasn't allowed to until the end of the ceremony. Feathertail paced behind Shoalpaw and Pebblepaw. Her silver fur was spiked, and she radiated anxiety. This would be her first Games as a mentor, a real, live, acting one, and it was obvious how nervous she was. She needed to put on a good show for the Capitol. Otherwise - well, there would be no other tests of her mentoring skills. Districts 1 and 2 had already entered the arena, to the cheers of the Capitol citizens. The first pair from District 3 was already halfway from the mouth of the cave, and their fellow Tributes were preparing themselves for what awaited them. Shoalpaw's nerves jangled. "Be confident," Feathertail said, stopping short and peppering Shoalpaw and Pebblepaw with suggestions. "You are strong, you are confident, and you are powerful. Shrimp, I know it's going to be hard for you and don't ever expect me to say this again, but you can do it. You can both do it. You are going to win the hearts of these citizens and you are going to win these StarClan-forsaken Games or so help me, I will--" "District 4 in 3, 2, 1..." Tuberpaw and Rainpaw set off, striding proudly into the arena. The Capitol let out the loudest cheer yet when they entered, cooing and screaming at the beautiful duo that was made up of the pretty calico and polite tom. A white Peacekeeper trotted up to the trio. His pink eyes were significantly less angry than the ones of the Peackeepers back at camp in Smalltides, though he spoke with the same uniform brusqueness. "You guys are up in a moments. We'll count you out from the mouth of the cave, but if you mess it up...District 4 will have half the chance at winning this year. Understand?" Terrified, Shoalpaw nodded. Pebblepaw only smirked and dragged her behind the rippling lichen curtain. "District 4 in 3, 2..." Shoalpaw zoned out. "...1." The lichen dragged across Shoalpaw's back, sending chills down her spine. Her fur fluffed up but she forced it to lie flat for fear of ruining her decorated fur. Time slowed, the air sucked from Shoalpaw's lungs like a vacuum, and her legs turned to jelly. She was halfway through the curtain and could hardly move, when she was assaulted by light. The crowd was silent. ''total word count: 6119 C h a p t e r F i v e The pair was met by thunderous applause. Shoalpaw gazed wondrously upon the assembled crowd, gaping at the sheer magnitude of the stands and the number of gathered cats. Felines of every shape, size, and color stood, roaring, in the boxes above. Most had fur decorated much more ludicrously than Shoalpaw's own, and the strangest feeling soon came over her - she felt like she was underdressed. In a group like this, it was a little hard not ''to feel that way, but it was still an emotion Shoalpaw hadn't even been able to guess she'd feel after being so dolled up during the preparation for the parade. It was so...''weird. '' For a moment, she was too awe-struck to even move. Then, Pebblepaw leaned close to her and snarled from the corner of his mouth, "You're ''not ''messing this up for me. Get a move on, feather-fur." Affronted, Shoalpaw picked up the pace until she was leading in front of Pebblepaw by a few pawsteps. Rather than risk being seen talking to her again, he had to almost prance to keep up with her - for once, Shoalpaw's long, lean legs were more beneficial than harmful and she was able to stride easily forward. She could hear Pebblepaw muttering angrily under his breath, his lips hardly moving. Soon enough, the tumult had died down as the crowd waited for the next pair, with bated breath. The Tributes from District 5 weren't usually as heavily-anticipated as those in the Career districts were, so it wasn't much of a surprise that the scrawny quatrane from District 5 received only a weak cheer. The same went for District 6, whose pelts were unartfully decorated like the air monsters that occasionally went screeching through the sky, and District 7 after them. The only real contestors of the Career Tributes' prestige were the four from District 10. District 10's primary export was livestock - they hunted. This meant they had a surplus of food for themselves, and though they weren't the wealthiest of the districts, they definitely weren't going hungry. The first pair of Tributes from District 10 were dressed up like mice, with currant juice and mud streaked through their fur. Their tails had been painted to emulate the skinny, hairless things that mice had, and their faces had been made up and plucked. Shoalpaw hoped they didn't have to look like that in the ''Arena. The second pair of Tributes, however, were something else. Their eyes appeared wider than physically possible, enhanced by the paint that was smeared across their fur. With pelts painted a slew of golds, greens, and other colors commonly found in the farmlands upon which District 10 raised their livestock, the cats possessed an otherwordly beauty that quickly made them the subject of the crowd's affection. At this point, Shoalpaw and Pebblepaw had already drawn to a halt next to Tuberpaw and Rainpaw, who were staring at the rest of the ceremony with anticipation. As the last Tributes of District 12 (streaked with black charcoal and looking thoroughly worn-out) settled into their spots, a slim, white-furred she-cat stepped into view at the very top of a protrusive rock. Upon her arrival, the cats both in the crowd and in the assembly of Tributes fell silent. Something about her commanded respect and projected authority. Shoalpaw had to suppress a shudder as one of the she-cat's narrow pink eyes swept past her. "Every year, two Tributes, one male and one female, are selected from each District to come forth and participate in the annual Hunger Games. It has been as such for years - and today marks the fiftieth anniversary of the first day these Games began. The forty-eight cats gathered below me have the honor of participating in the Games' second Quarter Quell - a Games where their odds of winning are almost half that should they be participating in the usual Hunger Games. "However," she continued brusquely, her hawk-like eyes once again performing a routine check of the audience, "I have faith that those decreased odds will not put much of a damper on these Games. After all - salvete Panem!" "Salvete Panem!" the crowd echoed, hooting and cheering. "As always, may the odds be ever in your favor." With that, the President of Panem turned on her heel and disappeared from view, leaving no evidence of her appearance except for the slight swaying of the curtain of vines and the whisper of excitement upon the air. * * * "Confidence!" "I'm trying," Shoalpaw insisted, tipping her head up and jutting out her chin. She narrowed her eyes and strode forward, making sure to keep her claws unsheathed and flexed. Deep gouges appeared in the dirt after every pawstep, and though Feathertail said nothing, the small apprentice could feel approval coming off of her mentor in waves. They'd come a long way in the hours they'd been stuck in the Training Center. Feathertail motioned for Shoalpaw to pause. "Your technique is good enough. You just need to work on confidence. I've seen you fish, you'll be decent enough when it comes to having to find food in the Arena - that is, if there is a water source, which won't always be guaranteed. If there isn't, you need to be able to hunt. We can work on that tomorrow as well, and your fighting definitely needs some improvement. "Now, when all of the Tributes train together tomorrow, there are going to be a lot of cats. There are a possible twelve Tributes included in the Career Pack this year, and so your odds of getting in when you're up against Prettyfeet and Prancypaws. Pebblepaw has almost a sure-fire spot in the Pack, so your best bet is going to be to either get attached to him and work together, or make it in on your own. If you're going for the second route, you've got to walk straight up to the rest like you're entitled ''- because you are. You ''are ''a Career, Shoalpaw. You've just got to act like it." ''total word count: 7131 C h a p t e r S i x For Shoalpaw, Training was a blur. There had been hours of Feathertail's anxiety-spurred pep-talking, where she rambled on and on for what felt like moons until Shoalpaw begged her to let her get into the action. Finally, Feathertail consented and Shoalpaw bounded into the fray with relief - only to have all of her own nervousness come washing back as she took in all of her compteitors. Going into the Games, after the Reaping, Shoalpaw had understandably been terrified. She had - along with Feathertail, and her fellow Tributes (whom she was beginning to put off with all of her jitteriness) - expected the nerves to die down once she had gotten into the swing of things, into the preparation. She had expected to be swept up in the "excitement," and then it would all be over (both figuratively and literally) once the Games began. Instead, she found her uneasiness paramount now, and the Games were drawing nearer. One last night in the Capitol, before they would all be sent away and pitted against each other. Shoalpaw shadowed Tuberpaw and Rainpaw in the Training arena, flitting quietly to each station after they left it. She was approached by a couple of the lesser Districts, but Feathertail's words lingered in her head - wait for the Careers. It was nearly the end of the session and Shoalpaw still had yet to find an area in which she excelled. The individual assessments, after which each Tribute would receive their Training score and odds to win the Games, drew ever closer, and Shoalpaw's mind was beginning to scatter. Feathertail's frazzled pacing, behind the semi-transparent waterfalls surrounding the training area, was doing nothing to soothe Shoalpaw either. Then came the Plant Identification center. Shoalpaw stepped inside the small, secluded den, and immediately felt at ease. Back in Smalltides, she'd occasionally helped out the medicine cats with their work. Identifying herbs was more her forte - and she quickly began to sort as the director instructed, organizing herbs first by their uses and then by which ones could kill a cat fast enough. The sponsor outside kept shouting out her scores, but she didn't let his yowls reach her ears. The only thought running through her mind was each name of each respective herb. There was no room for anything else - no room for panic, no room for anything. She hadn't even broken a sweat when the instructor sent her out of the den with a half smile and genuine congratulations. There was no one waiting outside to applaud her - but a few tail-lengths away, the large group of Careers was arguing heatedly, shooting pointed glances her way. Feathertail's words returned to her. You've got to walk straight up to the rest like you're entitled ''- because you are. You'' are a Career. It was on the same adrenaline high that she had been on in the herb den that buoyed her over to the Careers. She didn't hesitate as she strode across the clearing, eyes resolute and muscles tensed. The pack of ten seemed to part as she drew near. Across from her sat Pebblepaw, gazing at her with no warmth or familiarity as she approached the group. The biggest tom, the second-drawn Tribute from District 1, was the first to speak. "You know the herbs, huh?" Shoalpaw nodded, forcing herself to smile. She hoped, briefly, that it was enough to convince them that she had just the same intent as they: to win. Already, there was the crippling fear that they didn't see her as a competitor, but she puhed it aside and closed one eye a little bit so she looked as though she was calculating. Hours of watching Feathertail ramble on and on had improved her imitation, and she was doing her best to appear as one of them now. "Can you kill a cat with leaves?" the tom asked shrewdly. "Berries, I can, if they have the proper ones," Shoalpaw responded confidently. "But the right mixture of leaves can do the trick. Slip a poultice into fresh-kill, leave it for another cat to find...they're out. I can knock a cat out, paralyze them, drive them insane. All of which can eventually kill them, yes." The tom smiled. "I'm Furzepaw. You're in." total word count: 7843 '' C h a p t e r S e v e n Approximately four hours ago, when the sun had been just peeking over the horizon, Shoalpaw had woken to the sound of screaming. Every cat in the complex had woken up, racing into the center of the clearing with their fur on end and their breath tainted with sleep. The Peacekeeprs swarmed the camp, their claws almost glowing in the light reflected from the nearly full moon overhead. Once everyone had calmed down (the shrieks went on), the Peacekeepers filed into the den alloted for the District 6 Tributes. A small, golden-furred she-cat was dragged into the center of the camp and put beneath the Peacekeepers' claws. That's where she woke up, her wide, doe eyes flashing as she finally gained consciousness and began to struggle. Her screams had died down, but panic had set into her body and her movements were slow and stiff. The Peacekeepers couldn't kill her, not on the dawn of the Games. There was no time to send for another Tribute, prepare them for Training, and get on with the Games in just a few hours. So, the appropriate herbs were sent for and given to the tearful she-cat and she soon drifted off into sleep. Shoalpaw knew for a fact that she was the only one able to sleep - the rest were up worrying, planning, or just thinking about the event that loomed before them. At sunhigh, they would be sent into the environment that would become their home for up to two more weeks - though for some, that home would last only minutes. Shoalpaw couldn't sleep. Even after settling into her nest beside Tuberpaw, she found herself jittery and restless and unable to drift off. Beside her, Tuberpaw was immobile, save for the rise and fall of her flank, though her eyes flickered in the darkness and Shoalpaw could tell her best friend wasn't asleep. They hadn't had much contact with each other since the Reaping, only greteing each other blearily in the mornings and nosing each other good night in the evenings. They hadn't strategized, they hadn't chatted, they hadn't even confirmed an alliance (though if it came to it, Shoalpaw knew she wouldn't be able to bring herself to kill Tuberpaw, the thought in itself was simply horrific. She wasn't, however, sure that she could say the same for her friend). As far as Shoalpaw was aware, Tuberpaw wasn't even in league with the Careers. The only alliance she knew of the pretty calico having was with Rainpaw. Sunlight soon flooded the camp, bathing each of the dens in a warm, summery glow. Warm air seeped between the brambles and permeated every cat's nest like a familiar friend. The weather was perfect, eerily so, and Shoalpaw couldn't shake the feeling that this day was starting off on too cheerful a note for something so horrifying to take place. "''Attention!" The shout drew all of the Tributes from their dens. They lined up in the fashion that had been prescribed, and the Peacekeepers gave the signal for the mentors to enter. Feathertail trotted over, a forced smile painted across her gray and white muzzle. "You ready, shrimp?" she asked, blue eyes sparking. Shoalpaw gave a noncommittal shrug, and nodded. "You do what I instructed?" "Yeah," Shoalpaw replied evenly. "My asset is herbs and already they're expecting me to kill cats for them." Feathertail squared her shoulders. "If that's what it takes to survive." She addressed the four of her Tributes now, in a raised voice. "Since there is only one of me and four of you, District 4 has enlisted the help of former victors to escort you to the Arena. I will be accompanying Pebblepaw. Shoalpaw, you'll be with Stonepad; Rainpaw, with Iceheart; Tuberpaw, with Fallowfoot." She gestured to each of the past victors respectively. A brawny silver tom flicked his tail at Shoalpaw. This was it. * * * The tunnel was cool; much colder than Shoalpaw had anticipated. Stonepad ambled along in front of her, walking with a surprisingly loping-like gait for such a thickset tom. Behind him, Shoalpaw set her shoulders and breathed deeply. The thinly-spread uneasiness that had coated the bottom of her stomach now seemed to coalesce into a ball the size of a pebble, weighing down the center of her belly. She tried to ignore it, envisioning herself dropping the tangle of worries from her jaws like a mossball and leaving it to rot in the cavern behind her. "The tunnel slopes up here. We'll get the signal in a minute for you to go on up. Once you get up there, do not move a muscle. If you do, you'll be blasted straight off of your platform and you will be sent back to District 4 in smithereens," Stonepad told the skinny apprentice. Despite the foreboding tone that accompanied his words, he smiled kindly and encouragingly at her. "Good luck, Shoalpaw." Shoalpaw couldn't bring herself to speak, so she just nodded at the heavy tom. The small smile he gave her in return was heavy with unsaid words, but laden with understanding. Shoalpaw swallowed back the lump in her throat and prepared herself. A tremor shook the tunnel. "That's the signal. Go on up, quickly." That was how it ended. That was how she lost sight of Stonepad, how she lost contact with the last, most feline cat she was going to meet. Shoalpaw wished she had been able to say more, but light soon assaulted her eyes and she was thrown into the brilliance of the Arena. total word count: 8768 C h a p t e r E i g h t The voice of the head Gamemaker began to ring out throughout the entire stadium. Shoalpaw paid him little attention as she took in her surroundings, quickly and mentally taking inventory. The air was cool, but not too cold. It was obviously still some form of Greenleaf in the Arena, though the temperature was likely modified, somewhow, to fit the Capitol's desires. She couldn't have traveled too far through the tunnels, so there was evidence that she was relatively close to the center of the Capitol. There had been plenty of herbs growing in gardens there, meaning that the same must be applicable in the Arena - of course, it was never safe to assume anything, especially when the Hunger Games were involved. Now beginning to take the actual Arena into account, Shoalpaw glanced left and right. To her left, a vast forest dominated the Arena. Pine trees and redwoods, none of which were indigenous to District 4 (the Capitol was pretty much the first place she had even seen ''trees), soared towards the sky. Straight ahead, storm clouds seemed to be rolling in, edging the horizon with a smudgy charcoal color. A clear, freshwater pond stretched across the ground in that direction, but it didn't seem to be a dominating feature of the Arena. Unfortunately, there would be little time for Tuberpaw to demonstrate her swimming forte, which Shoalpaw had hoped might be able to earn her a spot amongst the Careers. To Shoalpaw's right dipped a valley, the bottom of which wasn't visible from her vantage point. She guessed there was something potentially deadly down there; so far, none of the factors she'd taken interest in had seemed particularly lethal. Knowing the Hunger Games, however, there was undoubtedly something dangerous loaded in every single tail-length of this Arena. "Ten...nine...eight..." Shoalpaw tensed. Around her, the forty-seven other Tributes appeared to be doing the same as they crouched closer to the bottom of their pedestals and prepared to launch themselves to the massive, hollowed out tree trunk serving as a Cornucopia in the center of the Arena. "Six...five..." Tension sparked through the air like electricity, apprehension almost tangible. The entire Arena seemed to hum with anticipation as the countdown neared 'one,' everyone's nerves wrought with duress as they prepared for the most emotionally and physically taxing thing that would ever occur in their painfully short lives. Shoalpaw shifted from paw to paw. "Three...two...one." There was a moment of silence, when all that could be heard was the soft whistle of the breeze winding its way through the trees. A couple of birds called to each other, perched somewhere in the safe boughs of a tree or squeezed into a cozy nest within a thick, oaken trunk. Every cat stood with bated breath, though the moment of silence seemed to stretch on for longer than Shoalpaw had imagined possible. The canon cracked. Shoalpaw ran. She was hardly aware of the sooty gray cat that was hard on her paws. Though she could feel the breath fanning across her haunches, she pushed her muscles harder until she was within a couple of tail-lengths of the Cornucopia. Then she swerved, ducking around a grappling Fuzzpaw and snatching up a leaf parcel in her jaws. The she-cat behind her let out a yowl and Shoalpaw turned. Blood now stained the grass where her persuer lay. Furzepaw stood over her, his thickset frame heaving. Scarlet painted his paws and he was panting. At first, Shoalpaw thought he might be tearing up - but then he turned and Shoalpaw saw that a grin curled his lips, a grin painted crimson with the blood of the poor District 7 cat that now lay at his paws. Something snapped within Shoalpaw. Dropping the parcel from her jaws, she leaped over another body and kept running. Running wasn't even the appropriate word anymore - she was moving too fast, adrenaline racing through her veins and setting them on fire. Her muscles were burning and her legs were moving faster than she had ever envisioned, all she knew was that she needed to get away from Furzepaw, get away from the blood, get away from everything that was happening. She didn't care that she had just blown her chance at survival, she didn't care that she had just ruined anything she might have had with the Careers. She didn't think of Tuberpaw, or of Rainpaw, or of Pebblepaw or Fuzzpaw or the cool, calculating she-cat in the Career pack that she hoped to become temporary friends with. She just needed to move, she needed to get out of there, she needed to ''get away. She was in the forest now, surrounded by trees and cool air. She needed water. Shoalpaw was still running, though by now the ache had spread to her lungs and her body was beginning to catch up, her energy and adrenaline beginning to drain from her body. Still, all she could see was the sight of Furzepaw painted behind her eyelids, his jaws dripping with blood. She envisioned Pebblepaw in his place, his cold eyes wiped of any emotion as he stood over a painfully similar body. One dappled with gray spots, and glazed blue eyes - Rainpaw. Then it was Tuberpaw standing there, her pretty calico pelt just as sleek as ever. For every patch of black and ginger, though, there was an equally large spot of crimson blotting out the snowy white of her fur, and her cloudy muzzle was drenched in blood. Her green eyes, usually so friendly and so animated, were cold and distant and malicious. Despite this, a smile pulled at her face, contorting her pretty features into something alien, something completely savage and foreign to Shoalpaw. It terrified her beyond belief, pushing her muscles into action and sending her sprinting deeper and deeper into the forest. And then her body gave out. She stopped dead, sinking to her belly on the warm cushion of leaves. Moisture dappled the ground beneath her, and when she parted her jaws she could taste the familiar clear scent that she had always associated with fresh water. There was a stream running nearby. Hardly able to lift her body up, Shoalpaw crawled forwards. For a moment, she was falling, her legs flailing and claws struggling to grab hold of anything and potentially everything. Only wet leaves and pine needles came away by the pawful, tumbling the short distance into the water along with Shoalpaw. Once her body hit the river, she relaxed. If she closed her eyes, it was exactly like she was back at home, drifting in one of the larger of the tidepools as the chatter of workers overrode her thoughts. The water was cool, tuggling slightly at her fur but not weighing her down enough to pull her under. The current wasn't strong enough to drag her downstream (for which she was grateful, she didn't think she had enough strength left to fight the current), so she just floated there for what could have been hours. Then came the cannons. Twenty-three of them, she counted. There was a pause - and then another. That was half of the competition, down in the first day of the Games. Dearly, Shoalpaw beseeched her ancestors to have kept Tuberpaw out of harm's way. As night closed in, all she think of, though, was whether or not she was grateful to be alive. total word count: 10010 C h a p t e r N i n e/span> Coming Soon! Category:RedPandaPotter's Fanfics